Raffe glides down, circling silently near the ships, as curious as I am about what’s happening.
The decks are covered with people huddling together for warmth. Someone must have caught a glimpse of our darker shape against the sky because the engines shut off and the boats float silently through the night. There are men with rifles pointed at the sky, but most of them are not pointed at us, so we must not be very visible. And the best news is that none of the guns go off.
I’m guessing they have orders to shoot only as a last resort since the noise from a single shot could beckon a horde of monsters to them. The boats seem to be doing okay silently drifting through the fog. If this is the Alcatraz escape, they’ve probably been on the water for hours, which means they’ve had their engines off most of the time.
There is no light, motion, or sound anywhere except on the roof of the largest boat that’s leading the fleet. The reflection from the water’s ripples and the moonlit glow of the mist are enough to see that there’s something tied to the roof.
It’s a thrashing scorpion.
Someone hovers over the writhing monster. As we silently glide past, I get a better look.
The beast’s body and tail are securely tied. Its mouth is gagged and making a muffled hiss as it tries frantically to sting the woman who bends over it.
The woman is absorbed in whatever she’s doing and doesn’t notice us. She’s drawing something on its chest. I can’t see her face but there’s only one person she could be.
My mother is alive and apparently uninjured.
Two men holding rifles stand on either side of her. I’m guessing by the bulging arms of one and the yuppie collar of the other that they’re probably Tattoo and Alpha. If so, Mom must have impressed the hell out of them during the escape or they wouldn’t be protecting her as she draws on a scorpion.
We sweep over the boat, but it’s too dark for me to see what she’s writing.
“She’s drawn a heart on his chest in lipstick and is writing ‘Penryn and Paige’ inside the heart,” whispers Raffe in my ear. We circle back on our way to the pier. “Now she’s drawing flowers on his stomach.”
I can’t help but smile and shake my head.
I feel lighter.
And for a moment, I hold Raffe tighter in what some people might mistake as a hug.
Chpater 66
PIER 39 is mostly as I remember it. Broken planks sticking out every which way, demolished buildings, a boat on its side.
Captain Jake’s ferry has been driven into the pier, plowing the planks in a crown of jagged splinters. The ship sits lower than it should, slowly sinking. A spotlight from the deck remains on and throws a ghostly ray of light across the pier.
So not everyone chose to go down the bay to the peninsula. Some must have wanted to take the shortest crossing to the mainland and then scattered. That would make sense if you thought your chances were better on land than on water, or if you had loved ones in the city. But whoever piloted the ship probably wasn’t Captain Jake. Unless he was seriously drunk, which is a real possibility.
We circle above the pier, scoping out the situation. Looters scatter when they glimpse our moon shadow. A couple of them are just kids. Word must be getting around about the valuables left on the pier. I wonder if they have any idea how dangerous it is for them to be here?
As soon as everyone disappears, we land silently in the shadows.
Raffe holds me a second longer than necessary before he puts me down. And then it takes me a second longer than necessary to slide my arms away from his neck and step back from his warmth. Anyone watching us might assume we were a couple kissing in the dark.
The lights illuminate the beams and planks sticking up on the dock. The moist air of our breaths condenses into mist and swirls together as we watch and listen to make sure no one is around.
Someone is crying.
There’s a lone figure sitting in the debris of a half-standing candy shop. She’s trying to be quiet but the soft sobs are unmistakable.
There’s something about the shriveled figure and the voice that seems familiar. I gesture for Raffe to stay back while I go talk to the person. I skirt around the beam of light to reach her.
It’s Clara. She hugs her shriveled body, looking even smaller than usual. The cheeks that look like beef jerky glisten with tears as she sobs alone.
“Hey, Clara. It’s me, Penryn.” I call softly to her from a few feet away so I don’t scare her to death. She gasps, and it’s clear I practically give her a heart attack anyway.
She half-smiles and half-sobs when she realizes it’s me. I walk over and sit by her. The broken boards are hard and damp. I can’t believe she’s been sitting here for hours.
“Why are you still here? You should be running as far away as you can.”
“This place is as close as I can get to my family now.” Her voice breaks. “We had happy Sundays here.” She shakes her head slowly. “That, and I have nowhere else to go.”
I’m about to tell her to go to the Resistance camp when I remember how they treated her and the other scorpion victims. People who would rather bury their loved ones alive than risk having them changed like Clara will probably never accept someone like her. No wonder she didn’t go down the bay with the Resistance.
I put my arm around her shoulder and give her a squeeze. It’s all I can think to do.
She gives me a weak smile but tears streak down her face again and her face crumples.